On My Own
by EverAfter89
Summary: In most fan fics, everything turns out so perfectly. But in 'On My Own,' Rose is completely alone and scared, struggling just to survive. Read and review. I think this is one of my better stories.
1. Alone

The pain was bottled up inside her, dying to get out. But Rose knew that if she started crying, she wouldn't be able to stop. As the Statue of Liberty came into view, she was filled with terror. This was the real world! And she was being thrown into it without a home or money or a friend to her name_. I'm on my own! I can't do this! _She thought. The lump in her throat was big and hard and wouldn't go away.

"Why did you leave me, Jack?" she whispered angrily. "How could you do this to me?" Inside, Rose was suffering horribly. She could now make out the exaggerated features of the statue and she wished so much that this ship would sink, too. So she could die in the same ocean as Jack. Her Jack. "Oh, God!" She cried, "No!" Impulsively, she released her grip upon the blanket around her shoulders and let it fall to the ground as she ran in the rain to the side of the ship.

"Jesus!" someone cried, "That lass is going to jump!" Rose was over the rail and about to let go when a gentle hand seized her wrist and pulled her back. _Jack? _She turned around upon feeling the familiar touch, so much like Jack's. But the man she saw with cropped black hair, a large nose, and scary eyes was not the man she loved so much. She pulled away in fear, but he held her back. Two more men helped force a struggling Rose over the rail as a crowed formed around them. They dragged her over, as she kicked and screamed like a spoiled child.

Someone held her firmly while she realized how stupid she was acting. _Jack DIED for you, you idiot! _In spite of everything, she wanted nothing more than to die as well and be with him. All she wanted was to see his face. If only she had just jumped that first time. Then she never would have had to deal with this horrible pain. She remembered it so vividly. Jack saved her from dying alone in that horrific ocean. That same ocean that took his life. She imagined him down there right now. Just lying amongst the debris and bodies. He would still have those hand cuffs around his wrist. His hair would be floating around him. Not over his eyes like usual. Rose knew nothing of marine life, but she hoped that whatever animals that lived down there would not disturb him. He deserved a proper burial, she thought.

The mood seemed a bit lighter when they finally docked. Rose, however, felt a familiar uneasiness in her gut got sick all over herself. She was just thankful that there had been a blanket sheltering her when it happened. "Honestly!" Cried the woman who covered her in a fresh blanket, "More than a week at her Rose and she just knew she would end up dying alone on the streets. It began to rain harder and the tiny cold drops beat down upon her head like weights.

And what about Ruth and Cal? What of them? Would they find her? If they did, Cal would force her to go back to him and Ruth would go along with it. They had been through a lot, but they were still the same selfish people, and that much had not changed.

The _Carpathia_ was stopping and the Statue of Liberty was in plain view. Rose stood up and walked as close to it as she could without making people think she was going to jump again. As stared transfixed at the statue, she thought of freedom that she now had. As she thought of freedom, she though of a conversation she'd once had with her father.

"_I hate going away to boarding school!" cried an 11 year old Rose. "Father, they are so strict there! Everything I do—sit or stand, eat or drink, play or read, talk or be silent—I must do it perfectly! Please don't make me go back there!" _

"_My Rose," comforted her father, "It is where your mother wants you to go. And…do you honestly want to be stuck at _home_ with _her_?" _

_Rose laughed. "No. But…Father, I have no freedom there. It's so unfair!"_

"_Ah, freedom." he said, "That word. What an interesting word. Rose, you have to remember. If you're never tied to anything, you'll never be free." _

Rose had never fully understood what those words meant until now. Was she now free? Was this freedom? Because if this was what she had wished for all her life, then she didn't want it anymore. To her, this newfound freedom was her being tied down by sorrow like weights.

"May I take your name please, love," An officer was now standing next to her holding a clip board.

All of her memories with Jack flashed through her mind and she knew what she had to do. "Dawson," she said, turning to him, "Rose Dawson."

Her legs felt weak as she stepped off the _Carpathia_. The bridge between the ship and the dock seemed more like a plank. The flashes of cameras and screaming reporters and waving family members made her dizzy. People kept asking her if she had been on the Titanic. She hadn't realized it was such a big deal until they bombarded her with questions and cameras. So she found it was easiest just to say no. Every moment in the smell, noisy crowd seemed like an eternity and she just wanted to get away. A lonely bench opposite the docks caught her eye and she elbowed her way out of the muddle. The bench seemed a mile away and she sighed with relief when she finally sat down. Exhaustion finally overcame Rose and she fell asleep.

When she woke it was dark. Everyone was gone; the reporters, the survivors, their families…everybody. And Rose was alone. Again. She was scared and cold. She got up but her legs wouldn't support her so she had to sit back down until she couldn't tolerate it anymore. She stood again and walked. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't know how she'd get there. She just kept walking. There were hardly any stars visible. The city was bright and the moon was full. How could she live in a city with no stars?

The sun peaked over the horizon and Rose found herself on the streets of New York. A cold drop upon her head, then another. It was beginning to rain, and not too keen on getting soaked _again_, Rose ran into the nearest building—the train station. She looked around at the hustle and bustle of people. There were people getting off trains, and people getting on. Everyone had somewhere to go; had a destination. Everyone, that is, but her.

The rain was letting up and Rose felt unbearably hungry. She strode outside. A plain horse drawn carriage came clanking up and stopped beside her. "Hey there," said they young man driving it. "You need a ride?"

"I don't need your charity," she snapped.

"You look like hell!"

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

"No…not that…but I mean, you look like you haven't slept a wink in days!"

"Huh," Rose was unable to control her sarcastic nature, "how about that."

"You live here?"

Rose started walking again and the driver had his horse trot beside her. "Where?" she asked stupidly.

"Well, here. In the city."

"Oh. Yes. Well…no. I haven't a home."

"Look, Miss…"

"Dawson."

"Look, Miss Dawson. Let me at least give you a ride to a hotel."

"Can't" she said, not caring if he knew, "Don't have enough money."

"Well damn. That can't be good. Well can I take you somewhere? So you're not just wondering around in the cold?"

"I don't have much cash. I can't afford to pay you."

"Don't worry about it," he told her.

"Well then," she said, opening the carriage door herself, "take me to a church. A nice church."

"Right away," he said, and Rose could feel the vibration of the cart moving over cobbles. A couple of times, the driver tried to instigate a conversation, but Rose wasn't in the mood to talk, and would allude it. She just stared sadly out the window and watched the rows of buildings flash before her eyes. It dawned on her that this was the first actual chat she'd had in over a week. It didn't seem real. None of it. The sinking, the dying, the tears, the sorrow, and the fact that she had just done something completely normal.

The cart stopped in front of a tall stone building with a steeple. "Here you are," he said. "I used to come hear when I was a kid."

"Thank you," Rose said quietly, and got out.

"I'm David, by the way. And I didn't catch you're first name."

"Eh, maybe I'll tell you next time you give me a free ride."

"That'll do," and he rode away. Rose stared up at the church. She didn't go in. She didn't want to. But she figured that the people who went to church were good, and might be nicer to her. She wanted to buy some food, but she only had about 10 dollars of Cal's money in her coat pocket, and she had to use it sparingly. So she just stood there in front of the church until the sun went down.

Tired and not knowing where to go and what to do, she found a plain looking town house by the church and sat herself down upon it's stoop. Minutes passed, and the door opened a crack. Rose waited to see if she would be shoed away. But instead, an old looking gnarled hand came out, holding a small loaf of bread.

"Thank you," Rose said, taking it. Then the person snatched her hand back inside. Rose chewed on the bread, and decided only to eat half. Just as she was tucking the remaining half into her coat, she noticed a little girl, dressed in rags and presumably homeless, standing about 10 feet in front of her. She was thoughtfully eyeing the bread and licking her lips in anticipation. Without thinking, Rose turned her back on the small child until it had walked away. Then she checked to make sure Cal's money and the diamond she had found in her pocket earlier were still there, and fell guiltily asleep.

Rose woke cramped from lying on the hard stone stoop and felt even hungrier than before. She took out her other half of bread and was about to dig in when she remembered the little beggar child. Rose felt sick and couldn't eat, so she stood and started walking around the block, looking for the little girl. More than an hour passed of Rose walking up and down blocks. The sick and the poor were all around her, and she finally gave up her search and gave the bread to an old blind man. Was this what the rest of her life would be like from now on? Eating only enough to stay alive? Guilt and sorrow ripping her apart? Days spent wandering around aimlessly and nights sleeping on the ground?

Finally, she went back to the set of stairs and rested. She watched the clouds in the sky and was startled when she looked in front of her and saw in old man staring right into her eyes. He had little hair, and it was all stringy and white. His eyes were cloudy, but shaped like those of a hawk. Then he smiled at her, revealing his almost toothless mouth. He wore plain clothes. "Hello, you," said the man. Rose tried not to be afraid as the scary looking man came closer. "Why, a pretty little thing like you should not be dressed in such rags. I know of a pretty dress you could wear. Come home with me and it's yours." He reached out his bony hand, crippled from disease, and Rose shrunk away into to corner of the doorway. She had heard about men like this. Men who kidnapped vulnerable young women and forced themselves upon them. Panicked, she reached her hand up and jiggled the doorknob behind her. Locked.

"Help me!" she screamed. "Help!" But it was midday and everyone was at work. This lonely street was bare. He moved nearer and tried to grab her, but she pulled back her arm, then forced her fist hard into his face, punching him. He fingered his jaw and wiped the blood away from his lower lip.

"Why, you!" He seized her by her arms and shook her roughly.

"Let go!" she screeched, "Let go of me!" She fought against him, but it was no use. She was anemic and fatigued and hadn't the strength. It dawned on her that she could show off her new talent, and she hawked back a glob of mucus and _whoosh!_ spit in his face. He pulled his hands back and wiped away the glob, giving Rose ample opportunity to run away.

She didn't know how fast she could run, so she hurried into the nearest building—the church. She could find sanctuary there if no where else. She couldn't bring herself to sit down or pray. She just waited in the lobby until she was sure he was gone. She couldn't face God. Not yet anyway. But when she sauntered back outside and the rain started once more, she knew she was at last ready to deal with Jack's death. Kneeling on the ground in front of her, Rose finally gave herself over to her grief and burst into heart wrenching sobs.


	2. Pitiful

A flower patch beside Rose was in full bloom. Never again would Jack smell the flowers. Everything reminded her of him and there was nothing she could do about it. When she felt the rain, she thought about clouds; when she thought about clouds, she thought about angels; when she thought about angels, she thought about Jack. It was a vicious cycle that wouldn't end. Furthermore, she was still sleeping on the streets. She had been for more than a week. She spent a tiny bit of money on food each day, but she was still running out very quickly. Rose was tired and felt old. She was coming down with a chest cold and was too weak to wonder around like she usually did. Chills ran down her back and her head felt hot, the telltale signs of a fever. When she started coughing up blood, she knew something was seriously wrong.

_I have to get out of the streets,_ she told herself. When her monthly curse came, she searched high and low for rags to sop up the blood. Her underskirts were ruined, but she was too cold without them to throw them away. It had been weeks since her last bath and she knew that she reeked. Her hair had lost its bounce and dark circles appeared under her eyes. Her knees were so weak, that she collapsed on the street one day and was nearly hit by a carriage. That's when she knew she would need some medicine. She finally found a doctor that wouldn't charge her for the examination, but when he told her the cost of the medicine, she knew she would never eat again. She paid him for it, and that was the end of her money.

Every time she thought about selling the heart of the ocean, a little voice inside her head told her not to. Not only would it be like accepting help from Cal, but that diamond was the only memory she had of Jack. And she wasn't ready to let go of that yet.

A hard knot lied where her heart should have been, and it had yet to loosen. Every time she thought of Jack (which was all the time) the knot would tighten. She always felt like crying; she did often. What if he had just held on a few more minutes…then none of this would have happened.

What if? Those words drove her insane. They ate at her soul. When she was pacing the streets, she would indulge herself in the fantasy that she was on her way home to see Jack.

What if she really was? Wouldn't that be heavenly?

_What if…?_

_Just pretend…_

_Play like…_

She had full conversations with him carefully planned out in her head. She would daydream and invent scenarios where she'd bump in to him on the street and he would tell her that he hadn't died; just blacked out or something. _Maybe he wasn't really dead! Yes, that's it! He's still alive, _she would tell herself. But she knew the truth. Jack was gone, and he wasn't coming back—ever. And that realization was difficult to deal with.

When she was feeling a bit better—not fully recovered, but still better—Rose wandered over to the train station. She liked watching people getting off trains and running into the arms of loved ones. It made her feel like there was still some good in the world. As she was staring at them, tears filled up in her eyes as she wondered, _why don't I have that? What did Jack do to deserve this? What did _I _do to deserve this? _Nothing would ever be good again. She was leaning up against a support beam just outside, watching a husband and wife reunite, kissing and hugging, each eagerly recounting their experiences while the other had been absent, when heard a name being called.

"Ms. Dawson? That you?"

Suddenly, Rose remembered that Dawson was her new name, and she turned around.

"David!" she cried, recognizing the man in the carriage as the one who had given her a ride about 2 weeks ago. He was a man whom she neither liked nor disliked, but at least was familiar to her.

"Have you been at the station all this time?"

"No," she said slowly, "I've been around. I just came back to…" she let the statement hang.

"So, where are ya living now?" he asked, as he got out of the cart and tied up his horse to a poll. Then he walked over to her and smiled.

"Well, I'm sort of…between homes at the moment."

"You mean you're still living on the streets! Now, now, don't cry. There's nothing to cry about." But she couldn't stop. "Alright, then, get in. But my boss will be angry if I keep giving people rides for free."

"Where are you taking me?" she asked after he had untied the horse and the cart was moving again.

"A widow's house. You said you was a widow, right?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Well, it aint the greatest place in the world. And Momma Brady will be mad if I bring you there. Aint much room, you see."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She wondered if maybe he had a hidden agenda.

"I'm a good Christian man," he said. "Here we are." He helped Rose out of the car and she stared at the worn, four story, brick building. A medal plaque on the side read "Brady House for Widows: Founded 1856."

David walked up to the top of the steps and knocked three times, then turned to his side so say something to Rose, when he realized she was still waiting by the carriage. He motioned for her to join him, which she did reluctantly. Finally, the door opened and middle aged woman was smiling in the threshold.

"Why David!" she cried happily in a thick southern accent, "What are you doing here? Coming 'round for some free dinner I'd assume. Oh, and who's this? You've brought me another one!"

"This is Ms. Dawson. The _late_ Ms. Dawson."

The woman hung her head and said sadly, "I'm sorry to hear that, Ms…?"

"Rose. It's Rose."

David looked at her quickly, liking the sound of her name.

Then the woman looked sharply at David. "Well aren't you going to introduce her to me, Davie?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." He chucked and rubbed his neck. "Uhh…Miss Rose, this is Amelia Brady. She runs the widow's house."

"That's right, that's right, that's right," she said, extending her hand, which Rose shook politely. "But y'all can just call me 'Momma Brady.' Everyone else does, after all. Well don't just stand there! Come in, come in, come in." Rose timidly stepped inside the building, which was much nicer on the inside than it was on the out, though still rather shabby. Momma Brady began to give Rose the grand tour. She showed her the dinning room, which was a room with one long table and stools all around. Next to that was the living room, which was really just some old chairs around a fireplace. There was a kitchen, and Momma Brady's room. The next three floors were all tenant's rooms. Each floor had 3 bedrooms and a bathroom with a two toilets and a single bath.

Then Momma Brady began to explain the rules in her endearing southern accent. "Now, there's two to three women per room. You'll probably have to be housed with a threesome, seeing as you're new. The mattresses are straw, but the blankets are thick. The first thing you're gonna have to do is find yourself a job. This aint no free ride. You'll give a small bit of your pay to keep the house going, but the rest you keep. When you have enough money, you move out into your own apartment to make room for more widows. This may take months, but probably years. Everyone has to help out. You'll get a chore that you have to do every day for a week, and then y'all will switch. You'll be helping out with laundry your first week. Understand so far?"

"Yes, Momma Brady." Rose was very well-mannered.

"Good. Now, dinner is served at seven and we always say Grace. Sunday is the day of rest and there aint no chores. Whether or not you go to church is up to you. But I havn't missed a single service since my husband Louis, rest his soul, died ten years ago. Now, while you're livin' under my roof, you're gonna have to follow the rules. This aint no boarding house. You gotta tell me before you go out somewhere. And we only call each other by first names. None of that "Mrs." stuff. Our husbands are gone, and we aint gonna have them constant reminders of what we no loner have. You won't ask them women about their husbands without their permission. They'll talk to you when they're ready. And same goes for you."

Rose gawked at Momma Brady. She found her fascinating. She reminded her of Molly Brown. Same build, same accent, and very colorful. The hair was different, and Momma Brady was much less obnoxious. "I understand. Thank you so much for your hospitality."

"Of course, Rose. Say, how old are you?" She peered at Rose through her glasses.

"Seventeen." She was reluctant to admit her young age.

"Well, you could knock me over with a feather! Mind if I ask you one question about your husband?"

"I suppose you can…"

"When'd he die?"

"Three weeks past."

"Oh, you poor, poor, poor thing." She wrapped her chubby arms around Rose, and Rose found herself hugging Momma Brady back. She finally let go, and Rose could breathe again. "I guess I'll put you up on the top floor. I expect you should be happy, happy, happy up there." Rose thought it was cute how Brady said everything three times.

Rose got very tired when she finally got to the last of the steps leading to the fourth floor.

"You'll get used to it. In a few weeks, you'll be as strong as the rest of us," Momma Brady told her. As they walked through the short corridor, and girl came out of her room, and nearly ran into them.

"Whoopsie!" Cried the girl. She seemed a little tipsy.

Momma Brady seemed to sense Roses speculation. "Don't worry. That's just how Nancy is. Nancy, this is Rose. She's new, not much older than you, and will be sharing a room with you and Mabel."

"Well hey! How ya doing?" Asked Nancy, happily.

"Not too well, considering she just lost her husband," Momma Brady intervened. "Now Nancy, please take Rose to the linen closet to find her some fresh clothes. I've some business to attend to, so I'll see y'all at dinner. Bye now."

"Bye, Momma Brady," Rose said, not wanting to be left alone with the happy crazy sounding person.

Momma Brady walked down the hall and took a deep breath before starting down the stairs again.

"Well come on, Rosie!" cried Nancy, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the hall to a deep closet.

"It's Rose, actually." Rose could tell already that Nancy was going to be very aggravating.

"Whatever." Nancy bent down inside the closet and opened an old looking trunk. She fished though it and emptied the clothes onto the floor. "Will this fit?" She held it up to Rose. "Too small," and she chucked it across the floor. Rose hurried to get it and folded it neatly. "Let's see," said Nancy, chewing her lip. "Umm, this and this," she pulled out two dresses and tossed them to Rose. "And these." She handed her a skirt and blouse and some underskirts. Then she looked down at Rose's feet. "Yikes! You'll need some shoes." She shifted herself to the other side of the closet. "Here," she gave her a pair of plain shoes with leather soles. "You'll have to stuff some newspaper in them so they fit."

Nancy then proceeded to shove the remaining clothes back in the trunk. Worried about what Momma Brady would think, she leaned down and carefully folded all of the clothes.

"Well what did you do _that_ for?" asked Nancy. "It'll just get messed up again, anyway. Well, come on." Nancy walked through an open door and Rose followed. "This is my room. Our room, now," and she gave Rose an affectionate shove. She looked out the window which overlooked the courtyard, while Nancy slipped out of the room. Moments later, she came back, dragging in another cot. "Where do you want me to put it?" she asked.

"Could we put it by the window?" she asked.

"Yup." And together the moved it into place. Nancy went to get some bedding and Rose skimmed the room. It wasn't much. The floor was bare, and so were the walls, save for the door and window. In one corner was Nancy's bed. Rose turned around and saw another bed, with a lumpy coverlet upon it. She looked closer and saw it moving up and down with breathing. She inched herself closer and peeled back he quilt hesitantly. A wrinkled old woman, was sleeping underneath, and Rose would have thought her to be dead had it not been for her breathing and the absence of the death smell.

"That's just Mabel." Said Nancy. Startled, Rose spun around.

"What's wrong with her?" The girls started laying the sheets and quilt upon the bed.

"Momma Brady says that Mabel's husband died a three years ago. She was living with her daughter until she died too, a little less than a year ago. Her son-in-law brought her here. Didn't want to take care of her. Poor thing hasn't gotten out of bed since. She only eats a little bit. Doesn't talk. And the only time you see her move is when she pulls the pan under her cover to relieve herself."

"My God," Rose gasped. It dawned on her that she might not be the only one with problems. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Oh, believe me. They've tried everything. Nothing works."

"But I thought Momma Brady wanted everyone to earn their keep."

"Momma Brady is much too good to throw her out just because she's a sack of potatoes!" Then Nancy did a little spin and fell laughing upon her bed. Rose wondered how a widow could ever be so happy.

"May I ask," Rose began, remembering the rules about asking first, "What's your story? What happened to your husband?"

"Well, I'm not actually a widow," Nancy admitted. Rose looked puzzled. "I ran away from home and into a marriage with this man, Sam. Wasn't two weeks after the wedding that I started getting…hit."

"He'd hit you?"

"Yeah. So I ran away. But he found me and messed me up a little. See?" She indicated a scar on her forehead. "That's where he beat me with the back of his gun."

"Oh my," Rose said, and tried to resist the urge to touch it.

"Yeah. But that's all in the past. I ran away again and Momma Brady found me and took me in. That was a little more than a year ago."

"Wow." Rose couldn't believe that a girl this happy could have been through so much. Rose asked Nancy her age. Nancy said she was twenty-one, and was surprised to hear that Rose was only seventeen.

"May I ask you about your husband?"

"Well, I don't think I'm ready yet," Rose said, taking advantage of Momma Brady's rules.

"Okay. Hey! Dinner will be ready any minute! Come on!" Nancy skipped down the stairs and an exhausted Rose followed, annoyed by the girl, but feeling incredibly fortunate.

&&&&

At dinner, Rose was extremely polite and quiet. Most women introduced themselves and started conversations while she nodded and accepted their greetings. She was completely terrified that she would say the wrong thing, offend someone, be kicked out, and alone again.

After the meal and the long climb up to the fourth floor, Rose finally got out of her old clothes and put on the long man's shirt that was to serve as a nightgown. She sighed happily when she finally laid down upon the bed. She wasn't used to sleeping on lumpy straw, but it smelled nice and anything was better than cold stone. She snuggled under her covers and waited for sleep. But it wouldn't come. She looked out the window and up at the heavens. A few stars were visible, and she wondered if Jack was a star now. She couldn't help but cry when she thought of him. "Oh, Jack," she whispered almost inaudibly, "I miss you so much."

Her voice cracked and she didn't want to wake Nancy, so she jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom down the hall. She leaned in front of the mirror hanging on the wall in front of the mirror and saw a medicine cabinet in the reflection. She turned around sharply and tried not to be too loud when she yanked it open and began rummaging through it. At last, she found what she was looking for; a small blade. She picked a rag off the floor and sat in the bathtub. Nervously, she let the blade hover above the skin on her arm, a few inches above her wrist. Then, with a trembling hand, Rose touched the razor blade to her skin dragged it across a little less than an inch. In pain, she dropped the blade and grabbed the rag, holding it against her cut to stop the bleeding.

Whenever Rose was in pain, she cut herself. When her father died, when she was sent away to boarding school, and when she got engaged to Cal. She couldn't stop. It was just something she did. Rose squinted against the pain and tried not to cry out. "Oh, Jack," she whimpered. "Please…come back!" Her tears were inevitable, and she laid there, a pitiful image, as once again her sorrow overcame her.


	3. A New Life

Every single day for the next week, Rose continued to be extremely polite and courteous. She knew that it was in her nature to say things without thinking and was just so scared that she might be kicked out. Everyone else acted 100 normal, but not Rose. She was entirely unlike herself.

But all of that changed one night, after only eight days of living at the widow's house. It was night time, and she was going downstairs to empty Mabel's bed pan and get her some food. As she crossed into the kitchen, she was Momma Brady sitting in the living room, reading a book. Momma Brady looked up when she heard Rose and smiled. Rose nodded and smiled back, then headed back up the stairs, when Momma Brady's cat hissed loudly, startling Rose. She stepped back but neglected to place her foot upon a stair, and she felt herself falling. She reached a waving hand out and grabbed the banister, causing all of her weight to shift, and instead of stopping herself, she ended up falling down all five stairs and landing right on the heater. Her arm scraped across a sharp edge on it and she could feel the blood trickling down.

Momma Brady rushed over to Rose when she heard her scream. She looked aghast at the three or four inches of skin that had been peeled back, exposing her bone in one spot. "My, my, my," said Momma Brady, "That must hurt like the dickens." She ran and got some supplies and began washing the wound while Rose cried. She touched the soapy water to the bare flesh and Rose wailed.

"Oh SHIT!" Rose screeched. "Shit, shit, shit!" She was then horrified by what she had just said to Momma, the woman who prayed all the time and never cursed. "Oh…Momma Brady," she began, "I'm…so sorry."

"Now, now, now," Momma Brady said, keeping with her habit of saying everything three times, "Don't you worry 'bout that." She finished patching up Rose, and then took her to the hospital to be properly cared for.

After that night, things were different. Rose wasn't scared to say what she thought and act like herself. She was actually beginning to feel at home, instead of just feeling like a guest.

In a few days, she was well again and her arm barely hurt. It was time to look for a job. Nancy suggested that she try and work at the library with her, but Rose didn't think that she could stand to be with that girl _all _the time. Unfortunately, there were very few jobs open to her, a young, inexperienced woman with none of the skills that most jobs required. Every place she applied, they told her she was either under qualified or overqualified. And this rejection led her to putting a new cut on her body almost every night.

Days later, it was Nancy's twenty-first birthday, and Momma Brady gave her two tickets to see Peter Pan at the local theatre. Nancy invited Rose to go along, and she eagerly accepted. She had read the book a while back, but her mother that never taken her to see the actual play. And she sat there completely swept away with the fantastic production. She cried and laughed and clapped louder than anyone that night and when the show was over, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

"Momma Brady, may I be an actress?" she asked after the show.

"Oh, that aint a sensible career," Brady told her.

"I know…but my husband…" she began.

"He was an actor?"

"No…artist. But he wanted me to act, I think." It was difficult to explain.

"If it's what y'all want to do and it brings a paycheck, then I aint gonna stop ya."

"So I have your blessing?"

"Yup," Momma Brady smiled sweetly and Rose couldn't stop herself from hugging her. "Now, now, now, my child. You go off to some auditions tomorrow. But for now, we sleep, eh? Say, it's getting kinda warm out. Why are y'all still wearing long sleeves?"

Rose stepped back, afraid that Momma Brady would pull up the sleeves and see all of her cuts. "I…I'm still cold." She said a little too quickly, and ran up the stairs and went to bed.

&&&&&

The Mainland Theatre was hosting auditions for a show, and Rose decided to give it a go. She sat in the auditorium with nearly a hundred other aspiring actresses. One by one, they were called to do a scene, and as she watched them perform, she knew that she was an imposter. How could she possibly compete with all of these gorgeous and talented women.

"Dawson, Rose," the director called. Trembling, she got to her feet and made her way onto the staged. Her stomach was in knots and she was sure she was going to begin. "What experience have you got?" asked the director.

"None, sir."

He raised his eyebrows. "Okay. Begin."

She began to read her line. She stared at the script and stumbled over words and spoke quietly.

"That's enough," said the director calmly, after only a few minutes. "No thank you." Rose nodded and ran off the stage.

&&&&&

"I'm a fraud!" she cried to Nancy that night. "I was a disgrace to the acting community!"

"Well…maybe acting just isn't your thing," Nancy told her.

"Maybe. Hey, aren't you supposed to be encouraging me?"

"I call 'em like I see 'em."

Rose shrugged, and ran to the bathroom. She locked the door and grabbed her razor and her rag, and put I nick on her leg. She couldn't do it on her arm anymore. Summer was coming, and wearing long sleeved dresses was impractical. Once the bleeding had stopped, she picked herself up and went on her way to her next audition. It was another flop. Her third stop was the Manhattan Stage Door Theatre. She did a little better, she thought. The director even said, "We'll be in touch."

Rose never heard from them. She had been good, but not good enough. Momma Brady told her she would have to get a part time job until this "acting thing" started working out for her. Sadly, the only place that would hire her was the library. And so she was stuck with Nancy almost 24/7. They slept in the same room, took meals together, walked to work together, worked together, and so on. Rose was just glad she wasn't followed into the washroom.

She found little ways to avoid Nancy and her antics. She'd offer to do odd jobs around the library, and would steal up to the roof of the widow's house whenever there was a spare moment.

She didn't cry much anymore, though she always felt like it. Cutting took place at least three times a week. She didn't try and stop, nor did she want to.

Every week or so she went to another audition. Even though she wasn't getting any parts, at least she was trying. Jack would have been satisfied with that.

For the time being, Rose was living in a world of books. When life got her down, when she felt depressed, she would escape her life and live with the characters in whatever books looked good at the library. She would experience adventure with Peter Pan and never grow up. She would fall in love with Romeo and become friends with Lady Macbeth. She became the closest confidents of Eleanor and Marianne Dashwood. Reading was perhaps the only way she could forget her misery.

&&&&&

Rose was sitting upon the window sill in her room, reading one day. Nancy was off entertaining some other lucky widow with her antics. So Rose was free to read from her favorite book, _A Little Princess._ She'd read it for the first time as a girl. When she had been sent away to boarding school, her father gave it to her. This near fairly tale about the 7 year old Sara Crewe, motherless, who started life as an heiress to a fortune, turned overnight into a penniless servant girl and eventually changed her life through her own efforts, gripped her imagination as no other book had ever done. When she was younger, she'd read it over and over again, and suffered Sarah's humiliation, cried over her despair, mourned the loss of her father, and savored her final triumph. She had read her first copy so many times that the binding finally wore and tore off. She no longer had that one, but a fresh one from the library. And she felt like if she tried hard enough to become a princess inside, like Sara Crewe, perhaps she too might one day reverse her misfortune and be happy again.

She was about half way through with it right now, sitting on her windowsill. She was completely lost in Sarah's world, but still looked up when she heard the rustling of covers. It was Mabel. She had stuck her head out from under the blankets and was watching Rose read.

Rose smiled at her. "Hello, Mabel." The old woman said nothing. "Do you need something?"

No answer.

"Do you need to use the bed pan?"

Still no answer.

"Are you hungry?"

The wrinkled woman just stared.

Suddenly, Rose got the picture. "Would you like me to read to you?" Mabel's lips twitched in a smile. "Alright," she said. "I'll start from the beginning." She moved herself closer to Mabel, cleared her throat, and began. " 'Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the big thoroughfares..."


End file.
